Hermione opened the door and, taking up the suit case,
held out her hand.

“Good-by, Mr. Geoffrey!”

“For the present!” said he, and though
his tone was light there was a very real humility
in his attitude as he stood bareheaded before her.
“For the present!” he repeated.

“Well—­we are very near neighbours,”
said she, dark lashes a-droop.

“And neighbourliness is next to godliness—­isn’t
it?”

“Is it?”

“Well, I think so, anyway? So, Miss Hermione—­not
‘good-by.’”

She glanced swiftly up at him, flushed, and turning
about, was gone. But even so, before her door
closed quite, she spoke soft-voiced: “Good—­evening,
Mr. Geoffrey!”

Thereafter, for a space, Mr. Ravenslee stood precisely
where he was, staring hard at the battered hat; yet
it is not to be supposed that the sight of this could
possibly have brought the smile to his lips, and into
his eyes a look that surely none had ever seen there
before—­such a preposterously shabby, disreputable
old hat! Of course not!

CHAPTER VIII

OF CANDIES AND CONFIDENCES

“Oh!” said Mrs. Trapes, “so you’ve
come? Good land, Mr. Geoffrey, there’s
parcels an’ packages been a-coming for you constant
ever since you went out! Whatever have you been
a-buying of?” And opening the door of his small
bedroom, she indicated divers packages with a saucepan
lid she happened to be holding.

“Well,” said her lodger, seating himself
upon the bed, “if I remember rightly, there
are shirts, and socks, and pajamas, and a few other
oddments of the sort. And here, when I can get
it out of my pocket, is a box of candies. I don’t
know if you are fond of such things, but most of the
sex feminine are, I believe. Pray take them as
a mark of my—­er—­humble respect!”

“Candy!” exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, turning
the gaily bedecked box over and over, and glaring
at it fierce-eyed. “Fer me?”

“If you will deign acceptance.”

“Candy!” she repeated, elbows a-twitch.
“Fer me? Land sakes, Mr. Geoffrey, I—­I—­”
Here, very abruptly, she turned about and vanished
into the kitchen.

Mr. Ravenslee, lounging upon his white bed, was taking
languid stock of his purchases when Mrs. Trapes suddenly
reappeared, clutching a toasting fork.